


Never Wanted To Leave

by MVHiddleston00



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Carol Danvers, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Pepper Potts, Bisexual Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Captain America Sam Wilson, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Everyone is saved, F/F, F/M, FUCK endgame, Gay Bucky Barnes, Happy Ending After A Lot Of Pain, He Doesn't Go Back To Peggy, How Do I Tag, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Lesbian Carol Danvers, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not my Captain, Pansexual Loki, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has To Work To Get His Boy Back, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky Centered, The Other Pairings Are Mostly Side Pairings, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Adopts Everyone, Up To The Point Where Steve Time Travels, We Die Like Men, the tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MVHiddleston00/pseuds/MVHiddleston00
Summary: When Loki brings Steve back to Wakanda, along with a risky plan to fix the mess that Thanos left behind, the remaining Avengers will have to assemble, to bring back their lost friends, and, hopefully, to not lose anyone else in the process.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie & Thor (Marvel), Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Loki (Marvel), Carol Danvers & Thor, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Gamora & Nebula (Marvel), Gamora/Peter Quill, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Shuri, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jane Foster/Thor, Loki & Peter Parker, Loki & Stephen Strange, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Nakia (Black Panther)/T'Challa, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Nebula & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Okoye & Natasha Romanov, Okoye & T'Challa (Marvel), Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne, Shuri & T'Challa (Marvel), Stephen Strange & Wong, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Never Wanted To Leave

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very long fic, the first long fic that I publish, and it's not finished. I'm a student and I have tons of work for school, so there will probably be long periods of time when I don't get to post, but I hope you stick around, because I promise I have a lot of great ideas I want to include. I might include more tags and pairings in the future, and the the ratings might change. Also, I know the grammar and the vocabulary might not be the best, but I'm Greek and my English is definitely not the best, so please be kind in the comments.

The woods feel empty, even more than they did the day of Steve’s departure. Except from the leaves, softly rustling under the gentle wind, there’s only silence, and it would be lovely, oh so lovely; the serenity of walking in a place so quiet, a place of such beauty, had it not been so heart-wrenching.

Bucky walks almost blindly under the dim light of the moon, staggering to reach the familiar glade, where he watched Steve disappear with a dry ‘It’s gonna be ok, Buck’. In his hand he cradles a bottle of alcohol with such force that a part of him -the one that’s still reasonable- wonders how it hasn’t broken yet. He sways on his way to the weird time-travel platform-thing, his steps clumsy and loud and violently disturbing to the beautiful tranquility of the woods. 

When he manages to reach the platform, he almost collapses against it, and he doesn’t know whether the alcohol is to blame, or the mind-numbing pain that eats him from inside at the sight of it. The tears that spill out of his eyes are a waterfall, flowing unstoppable down his cheeks and onto the ground, and the ugly sobs that tear through his throat is thunder, booming threateningly in the night. His heart pounds in his limbs, his breathing gets harder and harder, stuck in his lungs. 

Between the two of them, he’d always been the one to cry, of that he’s aware. His eyes would be the ones to burst with tears, his shoulders would give the slight vibrations, his would be the embarrassing whimpers, while Steve would let out his frustration in his angry drawings, in the sharp lashing of his pencil against paper. Way too proud to appear weak, the little Punk. Bucky’s cries, however, they were never Steve’s. They’d always been for Steve, to keep on fighting for his life, when he was small and shivering and sick back in Brooklyn, when Bucky’s shaky hand would reach out to measure the fever, or to wipe at the sweat gathered on his pale forehead. For him to please, please, keep on living when he’d find out that Bucky had been captured, to not be an idiot and try to seek him out. They were never, ever Steve’s. Never directed to him, never accusing him of all the wrong, stupid, so stupid decisions he had made. 

This is all his, though. Every single tear is the burn of a cigarette smoked before battle, every single sob a shot fired against the two of them, every single harsh breath a look they shared, a look that used to remind Bucky how much, how hopelessly, how unrequitedly in love he was. 

“Why?” he utters between his whimpers and it’s both for him and for the universe to hear, a fair question, a righteous complaint. It’s so much more -How could you?/ Was I not enough?/ I never would have left you/ You talked about the end of the line, is this it?/ Please, come back, I’m begging you- but the words are strangled by his cries. 

He knows he’s selfish, damn it, he fucking knows that if anyone deserves happiness at any cost it’s Steve. The Punk has been relentlessly giving all he had, tearing himself apart for humanity and for Bucky. Steve had the right to make a selfish decision for once. God knows he’d made very few of them, but who wouldn’t make this one? Who wouldn’t choose the incredible firecracker of a woman in the red dress, the lovely, so, so strong agent with the mean right hook and the gentle eyes, over the tortured, broken soldier that killed so many and hardly remembered who he was before he turned into a murderer? Bucky certainly knows what he would choose. And yet, he can’t help but feel deep into his guts that this specific decision was unjust, that it brought more hurt than comfort. But then he thinks that might be only considering his own feelings, so he just lets out his frustration by crying some more, because he’s a greedy asshole that can’t be happy for his best friend.

Once he’s run out of tears, once his sobs have dissolved into pathetic watery hiccups, he asks the void:

“End of the line?”

He lays on his back -though a little voice in his head, that sounds disturbingly similar to Sam’s, screams at him that it’s dangerous to lie facing upwards while drunk- and stares into the deep blue night-sky. It’s been increasingly difficult to look at the color of the sky during daytime, nowadays. It’s too close a resemblance to Steve’s eyes, and it really is hard not to be met with the tiny wrinkles that used to frame those eyes when his mouth stretched into that glowing smile. 

And he’s on his back, he’s gazing up at the sky, the stars, the moon, eyes still stinging and throat still aching, when a blinding green light flashes in front of him and suddenly he’s facing a pale, rangy man with long ebony hair and tired emerald eyes. A man who’s got a familiar shield hanging on one arm and the huge mass of Steve’s limp and bleeding body on the other. 

Bucky is wasted and for the last three months he’s consistently been experiencing cruel hallucinations that only Shuri had been able to chase away, but the Steve that’s just appeared before his eyes seems quite real, though awfully still. 

He struggles to his feet, while the unfamiliar man, who’s covered in a terrifying amount of blood that’s probably not his, manages to reach him, carrying Steve’s body. 

“You’re his Bucky, aren’t you?” he demands, his tone awfully arrogant for a man this breathless. 

“I’m… his…” Bucky replies intelligently, unable to move forward, or to tear his eyes off Steve’s figure.

He’s frighteningly motionless, his blond locks drenched in blood, and it looks like Steve -SteveSteveSteveSteveSteve- and Bucky is so damn scared of reaching out to him and touching cold hands and wrists with no pulse. 

“Bucky?” the other man insists impatiently, evidently annoyed at Bucky’s inability to cooperate. 

“Yes”.

“Great”.

Bucky doesn’t get much time to react when the strange brunet pushes Steve towards him and his hands instinctively reach out and he catches him. 

Steve is in his arms, bloody and still and solid, their chests are pressed together, and Bucky’s hand finds a gaping, bleeding wound close to Steve’s heart, but, though it’s subtle, his fingers vibrate through a weak heartbeat that shakes Bucky to his core. A relieved sob escapes his lips and gets drowned by Steve’s hair. 

“You’re alive”, he whimpers, drunk and delirious and terrified and so fucking happy. 

“Only barely”, the man interrupts him. “We have to take him to a healer”. 

“Yes”, Bucky agrees drunkenly (another immensely clever response) only barely considering the other man’s presence. A sober Bucky might have been able to ask for more information, or even act defensive against the stranger and try to protect Steve, but the drunk Bucky only had mind to be concerned about Steve’s lack of motion, and press kisses on the crown of his head, while whispering small promises that it was going to be okay. 

“I wouldn’t promise that, especially if you don’t hurry up”. The man’s comment only manages to slightly sober him up, enough to hold Steve a tiny bit straighter, enough for him to run his fingers through messy golden locks, to caress familiar cheekbones. 

“I’m Loki, by the way”, the stranger declares, still somewhat out of breath, but now slightly amused at the exchange. 

“Nice to meet you”, Bucky mutters disinterestedly and hoists Steve’s body up on his shoulder, managing to only stagger a little bit in the process. He doesn’t pay much attention to the brunet -Loki, apparently- as he begins walking towards the direction that he thinks the palace is in, but he does hear graceful feline steps, following him.

“You’re not a chatty one, are you now?” Loki asks and Bucky can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“I need to… Steve… safe”, he informs Loki, and proceeds to almost trip over his own feet. He, thankfully, doesn’t, but he does feel a tug in his stomach and he briefly stands still to consider letting go of Steve to vomit. 

Despite his accretive nausea, he keeps on walking. 

“And how do you suggest we do that with you this drunk?” Loki ponders, because, evidently, he’s a genius.

“I’m not-not drunk”, Bucky lies and hiccups helpfully. 

“Great. This is just great. Now I have to babysit a wasted super-soldier in denial, on top of trying to save a dying one”, Loki sneers. Bucky doesn’t reply, because, frankly, he is way too drunk to find a smart answer to the guy’s sarcasm, so he wordlessly continues marching. Besides, bringing Steve to safety is currently much more important than trying to outsmart a stranger. 

“Do you, at least, know where we’re going?” Loki asks tiredly.

“Stop talking” Bucky manages to mutter. “My head hurts and he’s heavy”. 

“How did you even get drunk at all?” Loki inquires, promptly ignoring his complaint. “Aren’t super-soldiers immune to alcohol?”

“Thor… brought his country’s alcohol”, Bucky replies, neither clearheaded enough to remember the country’s name (or was it a planet?), nor interested enough to give Loki any more information about Thor. 

However, he hears Loki’s breath catch in his throat. 

“Thor? He’s here?”

“Yes”. 

Something in Bucky’s mind wonders how Loki knows Thor, but the rest of him doesn’t really care, especially taking into account the sharp aching of his head and the heft of Steve -who is in fact here- on his shoulder. 

Loki remains quiet after that but he continues following Bucky. 

Miraculously, Bucky’s steps do eventually lead them back to the city, from whence finding their way to the palace proves to be rather easy, even in his drunken state. The problem occurs when the guards ask him -rightfully so- who the white stranger is, and Bucky can’t provide them with that specific piece of information, because he doesn’t really know, and because he’s drowning in Steve and Steve’s breaths are shallow, so much so that Bucky’s delirious mind is more concerned with counting the smalls huffs of air against his throat than it is with explaining whatever knowledge he’s gained (or, rather, hasn’t gained) about Loki. And thus, the only thing he can respond to the insistent questioning of the guards, is a repetitive “Steve”, and a quiet “Please, get Shuri”, while he staggers around, trying to forcefully go past them.

Fortunately, Loki finds a solution. 

“Please, ask for Thor of Asgard. Ask for him. He knows me. And be quick, the Captain is dying”. 

Bucky whimpers at the sound of the d-word and tightens his grip around Steve’s limp body. 

“Don’t”, he whispers in his hair and presses his fingers against Steve’s icy lips. “Stevie… don’t”.

His skin is cold and his pulse weak, and Bucky almost breaks down at the sight of his non-responding, ashen face. 

“Shuri, please”, he begs the guards, and yet part of him knows they won’t risk the life of the princess for the half-insane soldier she’s taken pity on.

He’s suddenly overtaken by exhaustion, by despair and he can’t help but crumble on the cold marble. He cradles Steve’s head close to his heart and cries, once more tonight, because of course, he’s useless, he’s pathetic, his strength has abandoned him the single time he truly needs it, and he can only cry while Steve barely breaths. 

“Loki?”

The voice is distant and Bucky hardly pays any attention, but he is certain it belongs to Thor.

“Hello brother, it’s good to see you”, Loki says and rushes to add, “I know we have to talk, but right now we need the Princess”.

“What happened? Let me through, it’s Bucky! Bucky? Is that…”

This voice is lighter, more muted, definitely Shuri’s and Bucky is momentarily slightly sobered up. 

“It’s Steve, princess” he sobs. “He’s… he needs to… please…”

“Let me through!” she orders. 

Bucky only makes the slightest motion to let her get closer to Steve. Shuri’s experienced hands are impressively quick to discover the wound and she immediately turns to the guards. 

“Carry him to the lab! And let Mr. Odinson through!”

All of a sudden, Steve’s body is out of his grasp and Bucky rushes to get up, get back to him, get to Steve. The guards move fast, and Bucky’s drunk and running out of breath, and he’s struggling to stay upright, but he manages to keep up with them, hold on to Steve’s hand. 

“Bucky, I need you to let me take care of him now”, Shuri whispers. 

“Please… I need to…”

“You need to let him go right now, White Wolf”, she insists softly, as Bucky refuses to leave their side. “He will be alright, I promise”. 

“I can’t… lose him”, he hiccups and stares at her pleadingly.

“You won’t”, she promises and her eyes are so sincere that Bucky is momentarily taken aback. “You can stay right out of the lab if it helps”. 

Bucky’s drunken mind is distracted long enough for the guards and Shuri to disappear with Steve’s body through the lab’s door, and then he’s left staring at the cold vibranium. 

“No…” he begs.

“Barnes?”

A pair of strong arms reach out for him and he’s enveloped in a soft but firm embrace. The embrace is shaky, and Bucky realizes he’s the one that’s shaking. 

“It will be alright”. The voice could only belong to Sam Wilson, and Bucky falls apart in his arms, and he cries so much, until all of his tears have drained, until his body has turned into putty and his eyelids get heavier and heavier. 

His sleep is consumed by nightmares drenched in red. By red battlefields in France, red dresses and red lips, red cries for mercy, red bullets. By red but golden hair. But there’s also a glimpse of cornflower-blue orbs that shine and promise him the end of the line.


End file.
